


Seawrack

by HawkSong, kittysomerville, Phaeryl, RedWyvern



Series: Ishgardian Academy of Excellence [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ages Are Changed, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Collaboration, Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, F/M, Fire, High School, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Investigations, Ishgard (Final Fantasy XIV), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Past Sexual Abuse, Slice of Life, Sports, Survivor Guilt, Teen Romance, Teenagers, awakening magic, be warned it might get dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkSong/pseuds/HawkSong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittysomerville/pseuds/kittysomerville, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phaeryl/pseuds/Phaeryl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWyvern/pseuds/RedWyvern
Summary: The story begins!
Relationships: Alphinaud Leveilleur/Original Character(s), Aymeric de Borel/Original Character(s)
Series: Ishgardian Academy of Excellence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201694
Kudos: 3





	1. Dark Fog

_Smoke on the water..._

Limsa was a city of white spires. A city of salt spray and clear nights on the bay. A city of glittering wealth up top and scummy underworld deals down on the docks.

It was _not_ a city of fire. Until tonight.

Tonight, the Navigator's Way Orphanage was burning.

The black smoke that poured out of the building stank – a sickly sweet stench that made the bystanders gag and choke when the wind turned their way. The firefighters had given up on putting the building itself out already. They were frantically working to contain the blaze, lest it escape and set alight the tenement apartments across the street, or worse, the Child Protection Agency next door. The new facility had only been finished a month ago, it would look supremely bad for the Admiralty if the place burned to the ground...not that the Admiralty-funded orphanage going up in smoke was going to be any better.

Half the crowd had their phones out, filming the blaze and the frenzied efforts of the first responders. Someone had alerted the media, too – a Mithril Eye van was already on the scene, its Lalafellin reporter trying to set up in a spot where he could see and be seen over the throng of curious citizens.

Murmurs of dismay, and a cloud of ashes like black butterflies, rose up as the roof collapsed.

Then, a scream from within – followed by a rising chorus of agonized and panicked cries.

The entire crowd surged, as if thinking to move forward, then changing its collective mind.

Firefighters scrambled, and the EMTs who had been standing there by their ambulance looking more and more horrified flew into action, dragging out a stretcher and handing it off to two burly fellows in the black and yellow uniforms. Yellowjackets started fanning out along the line of the crowd. “Get back! _Back!_ We don't know what the blaze is gonna do next, people, move your feet!”

“Officer, how many people are still inside?” demanded the Mithril Eye reporter.

“I have no idea, kid, back up.” Then the officer did a double take. “Oh. Sorry, Rallo. Hell of a thing, didn't realize it was you. Can you turn that damned thing off a second while we move you?”

Rallo Orlallo nodded. “Yeah, sure, Boz, but gimme some kind of a statement after, will ya? Gotta have something for the morning news or they'll dock me again.”

The officer sighed. “Yeah. Wish they wouldn't be such damned vultures. There are a dozen other things they could talk about over people's mornin' coffee.”

When the camera was safely off, Boz helped reset the media van and its little platform. While he worked he talked. “This is all off record, Rallo. But we didn't get word of this until it had been on fire a good thirty minutes, and we couldn't get in to get at any of the floors where the kids are.” The big Yellowjacket was of Sea Wolf blood, but his skin was gray more than green in this moment. “I think we might be buryin' a lotta babies tonight. But for the love of the Navigator don't spread that around if you can help it.”

“Thal's balls...” Rallo swallowed hard. “It's early though, right? They're obviously still...” the Lalafellin swallowed again, eyes widening as the screams from the building gained in volume. Little faces were appearing at the windows, little hands beating at the glass.

Rallo whipped around. “Get footage of this. I want people to give a damn what's happening here.” He turned back to Boz. “I won't mention numbers, but damn it, this is criminal. However this fire started, someone ought to hang. If the rumors I've heard about this place are even half true...”

Boz's jaw tightened. “I'll lose my job if I say a word right now, Rallo. You know that.”

“I'll take you for a good strong drink after your shift, later. For now, just please give me what facts you can.”

The Lalafellin gestured to his cameraman, and the brown haired Miqo'te nodded, giving the thumbs-up to go ahead.

“Rallo Orlallo reporting live from the scene of a massive fire at the Navigator's Way. I have Officer Blansynt of the Limsa Yellowjackets here to tell us what has happened so far...”

*

Admiral Bloefhiswyn slammed her fist down on her desk. “Eynzahr, tell me again why I cannot simply keel haul the entire gods damned lot,” she snarled.

The Grand Storm Marshal stood calmly beside the desk and did not react to his superior's unusual display of temper. “Largely because they seem to mostly be burnt to a crisp, ma'am.”

“You and I both know the scum that authored this – this _transgression_ – are still quite alive and well and probably enjoying a champagne brunch at the Bismarck right now.”

“We cannot yet prove that,” Eynzahr reminded her gently. “And beggin' your pardon, Merlwyb, but there's a survivor who needs our help more than the Yellowjackets do.”

“Gods. Lock the door, will you.”

Eynzahr obeyed, and by the time he turned away from the door, his commanding officer had got out the whiskey and had poured two tumblers full – and was already downing the first one. He stepped over, and picked up the second glass as Merlwyb poured another finger for herself.

“This is hitting you hard,” he observed.

“I heard the damned rumors, I had reports on my desk,” Merlwyb muttered. “I should have gone there in person. They couldn't have hidden what they were doing from me, if I had made personal inspection.” The whiskey was gone, and she set the tumbler down with exaggerated care. “I have the blood of children on my hands, because I did not believe my own intel.”

“That's not true. You know it isn't. You have an entire nation to run. Be easier to fire your gun with nothin' but your mouth.” Eynzahr held out his glass. “Instead of beatin' yourself up, honor 'em. Make sure the investigators get the time they need. Take care of the girl what lived.”

“Honor.” The word was a curse.

But then Merlwyb looked up. Her eyes met his, and for a moment they weren't Admiral and Grand Marshal, commander and subordinate, two of the most powerful people in Limsa. For a moment they were just old friends, two tired souls who had seen death too many times and still couldn't always shrug it off.

She ignored his glass and poured herself one more tot of whiskey. Then she paced over to the mostly ornamental fireplace. Eynzahr followed her.

“To honor the children,” she said quietly. When she knocked back the whiskey, the Grand Marshal matched her, and their arms snapped forward as one to throw the glasses into the fireplace, where they smashed into a million pieces.

“Let us get to work.”

*

Something was beeping.

Berylla stirred, frowning. It was a damn annoying noise, and it wasn't time to get up for school yet, couldn't be, wasn't bright enough...

But as she moved, she winced and then hissed. She hurt, real bad. What had they done to her _this_ time?

She opened her eyes, and blinked twice before sucking in a breath of dismay. _Hospital?_

“Oh, good, you've awakened.”

Wide green eyes flickered around the room before finally seeing the pink haired Lalafellin perched nearby. “Wha – ” Berylla started to cough, then to whimper at the pain that coughing caused.

“Sh, sh, sh,” the Lalafellin got up and came over, stepping up onto the small stool built into the hospital bed frame. “Here, now, my girl, sh.” Her little hand was cool as she touched Berylla's hand, and set something plastic into her palm. “Here you are. Press this little button here, so...yes, there we go.”

A funny taste bloomed in the back of Berylla's throat, but the pain immediately faded.

“...gods,” she gulped. “What happened to me? Why am I...”

“My name's Dera Telora,” the nurse told her, “and I can't tell you a lot except that there was a fire and you were badly hurt.”

Berylla shifted, and the little hand came to touch her on her shoulder. “Don't try to sit up,” Dera warned. “You've got a broken arm and you're wrapped in bandages for the burns.”

“Burns...a fire...” Owlishly, Berylla blinked up at the nurse. Pink hair and periwinkle blue eyes and a kind, pitying smile. “The other kids?”

Dera looked away at that, and Berylla made a tiny sound of dismay.

“Please say they made it...”

“I won't lie to you, my girl. Try not to think about it too much. You need to look after yourself right now. It was touch and go, you know. They found you under a collapsed wall. You're very lucky to only have a broken arm and some burns.”

Tears streamed down Berylla's face. “I should be dead.”

“Now look here, don't say that!” Dera was suddenly fierce. “That's no way to talk if you want to get well! The Yellowjackets are going to find out who did this to you and they'll hang the blackguards, be sure of that much. _You_ need to stay alive!”

This tirade made the hurt girl inch back into her pillow, shaking her head in alarm, and Dera took a quick deep breath. “I'm sorry, my girl. It's been mortal hard to handle everything, but I shouldn't ought to take it out on you.” Her hand patted Berylla's shoulder. “How about we start over? I'm Dera, can you tell me your name?”

“Oh. B-Berylla.”

“That's all right, then.” Dera stepped away. “I have to go get the doctor, Berylla. You touch that button any time the pain gets too much, all right? It's on a timer, you can't overdose yourself, and the medicine is there so you don't need to suffer.”

“Okay.”

There was a quiet swish, a door opening and closing – out of Berylla's line of sight. She regarded what she could see of herself. Her legs seemed to be covered in blue balloons, and there was a big cast on her arm. The machine beside the bed was beeping quietly, and an IV went into her left arm at the elbow. A board was strapped to her left arm to keep it straightened.

The tears trickled hot down her cheeks; by the time they seeped down to her ears the fluid was cold and gross and she wanted to wipe at them, but she couldn't. Her nose itched. She felt something uncomfortable at her crotch too, and realized they'd done something to her down there – vague recollections of TV shows told her there was a tube attached to her bits.

She pressed the button again, but nothing happened. She lifted her hand, and saw the word “morphine” on the little sticker attached to the plastic barrel. _On a timer, Dera said. Fuck_.

She looked around at the room, what she could see of it mostly flat on her back like this. The clock said it was quarter to five. There was a TV screen right beside the big digital display.

Maybe some TV would distract her mind. There was a remote built into the side of the bed, and she pressed the power button.

A click, a hum, and then the black screen bloomed into life.

“The entire city remains in a state of shock after the burning of the Navigator's Way three days ago...”

She stared at the screen in growing horror, but when the shot of the windows flashed by – it was too much. She clicked the TV off completely and turned her face towards the wall. She couldn't stop sobbing, and it hurt, but after a moment she _wanted_ it to hurt. She _deserved_ to hurt.

*

“Nurse, I want that television disconnected.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“And put the girl on a mild sedative each evening for now.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Pardon me, but are you the doctor in charge of the fire survivor?”

The tall Hyuran man turned and looked over the rim of his wire frame glasses at the dark haired Miqo'te woman. “And who might you be?” His tone was suspicious.

“I'm with the Admiralty. Officer Rihki.”

“Ah. What can I do for you, miss – ahem, Officer Rihki.”

“Is the girl awake? I need to speak to her.”

“She is in no condition to be questioned,” the doctor warned.

“I am not here to question her. The Yellowjackets may send someone to acquire her statement, but that is not my job.” The woman adjusted her black suit and red necktie. “I am here on a personal errand for the Admiral herself, and I must speak with that young woman.”

“Oh...very well.” The doctor harrumphed. “I will take you to her. I warn you, however, she is in a fragile mental state.”

“I am told she has burns and a broken arm, correct?”

“Yes, that's right. She will be able to walk again in a few days, with pain medication.”

“The Admiral wants a full psychological examination as well, if you please.”

“Might I ask why?”

“Have a bit of patience and you'll find out, doctor.” The Miqo'te's tone was cool and calm, and somehow that seemed to bother the physician. He opened the door to Berylla's room and stood to the side to let the officer enter first.

Berylla looked over at them as they came into her line of sight. She did not speak.

Officer Rihki looked over the girl in the hospital bed. Not surprisingly, she was a sorry sight. Her hair had been shaved off, and the burn across the left side of her scalp was bandaged, making her look like she had a lump on the side of her head. Her green eyes were murky with morphine, the whites and the lids were red from frequent weeping, and her skin, already pale, looked pasty in the harsh light set over her bed. The dark blue hospital gown didn't help. The broken arm was in a cast, a ridiculously cheerful neon pink for some reason. The girl's legs were exposed, showing freshly changed bandages tinted blue from the cooling agent meant to soothe and aid the healing burns beneath.

“Berylla Seawrack, yes?”

“Yeah, 'sme. Whaddya want.” The voice was sweet, but the tone was listless. Rihki's ears flattened. She had heard wounded sailors speak this way. This was a person waiting to die.

“I am come from the Admiral. I need to ask you a question.”

Berylla just looked at her, a dull expression on her face.

“The Admiral wishes to offer you the shelter of her personal residence,” Rihki told the girl. “I am given to understand that you will walk again, and the school year is not over. Therefore you need a place to stay, and the Admiral extends this invitation to you.” She produced a white square from her breast pocket. “If you are able, she asked that I give you this to read.”

“I c'n read.” The tone was a little more tart, that time. Rihki handed over the note.

Silence descended over the three of them as Berylla read the elegant words on the white page, then frowned and read them again. She looked up at the officer. “This for real?”

“It is very much for real. The Admiral feels strongly about what has happened. She knows you have been...troubled by those with more curiosity than good sense. She would offer what help she can.”

Berylla glanced at the note one more time. Her eyes were damp, but no tears escaped. Her lips moved for a moment, though the officer had a feeling she wasn't reciting the words before her. Then, those green eyes met her own once more.

“Yeah. I mean. Yes please. And, and thank you.”

Rihki bowed, deeply. “I will come for you again when the doctors release you from hospital. From now, you are under the Admiral's personal protection. Merely ask for what you wish and your request will be passed on to me.”

A small and incredibly bitter smile creased the girl's lips. “What I _wish_ ain't somethin' y'all can give.” Rihki winced, knowing exactly what Berylla meant. “But thank you anyways.”

This time, Rihki gave the teenager a small salute. It seemed the only thing left to do, for in her way this girl – only fifteen if the records were correct – was just as much a veteran as Rihki herself. Just as much a survivor of horrors. She hadn't quite understood why the Admiral had sent her with this errand – but now, the Admiral's reasons almost didn't matter. Rihki had her own reasons to want to protect this child.

*

“And you want us to take this – this _foundling_ – in?”

“I would appreciate it if you would at the least consider it. Limsa is no safe place for her, much as it galls me to admit it.”

The Archbishop set two fingers over his lips, an elegant gesture of implied thought. Merlwyb waited, knowing the gesture was just that and nothing more. Thordan was a man who thought long and hard before ever agreeing to speak with a body. He had made up his mind before she ever set foot in his lofty Vault. But she had also been dealing with the old goat for a decade or more. She knew his ways. He was, at the least, honest with those he spoke to face to face.

“We shall allow it. You will have Our backing to sponsor the girl. When you speak with Principal Vellguine, mention the bishopric to him, and he ought to be able to find the appropriate paperwork and scholarship information.” The man's eyes were colder and harder than the granite of the floor. “However, We shall not permit a possible murderer to run amok in Our city. She must have a keeper.”

“She needs a place to stay in any event,” Merlwyb nodded. “Have you a suggestion, milord.” It wasn't really a question but she reckoned she knew who – or rather, what – the Archbishop was going to suggest. Someone middle class at best, someone on the fringes of “respectable,” because damned if any of the white handed nobles of this mountain city were going to touch Berylla.

“The Forgotten Knight has small flats that are made available to transfer students,” Thordan told her. “The owner – a man by the name of Gibrillont – is known to Us and has earned Our trust many times over. He shall act as landlord and as minder over this girl of yours.”

Merlwyb nodded, her lips pursed. “Very well.” She kept her tone carefully neutral, but inside she was grinning. Her bet had been correct, and she knew Gibrillont better than Thordan probably knew. The man was perfect for the job. But she surely didn't need the Archbishop to know that she was pleased with this outcome. He wanted her nettled, and she was content to let him think he had annoyed her.

“If you have a minder over her in this fashion,” she came back, “I would ask to speak with whatever security personnel you have on campus. They will need to know some of her troubles, in order to best protect the other students.” And to better protect Berylla herself, but that statement was useless in this conversation. Thordan cared only for Ishgard and Ishgard's people, as indeed she tended to care mostly for her own people. It was part of their function as leaders.

Thordan waved one hand. “I shall ensure that all the appropriate persons are in attendance by the time you arrive at the Academy. We have a car waiting outside, which you may take at your convenience.”

Merlwyb bowed her head graciously. “My thanks, Archbishop. May you walk in the Light.”

“Fury's blessings be bountiful upon you and your people, Admiral.”

*

The Principal's office was quiet, austere in a classic and elegant way, and quite cozy. No drafts here, ceilings of a reasonable height, modest shelves filled with suitable academic looking tomes. A grouping of photos on the wall to the right of the desk, with another photo in a stand. Merlwyb entertained herself with a moment of irreverence, wondering if the photos were of Vellguine's real family, or merely a pleasant looking set of models hired for an afternoon.

But then the door opened, and she made sure her expression was controlled, her posture just so; she was the very picture of relaxed and in command. The two women who had entered nodded their heads to her, and she saw the auburn haired Miqo'te flick her tail and twitch an ear. Merlwyb took a moment to regard the pair.

She knew Hilda Ware only through the reports of her “irregular” agents in Ishgard; they had worked with the woman before and she was competent and utterly uncompromising when it came to those in her care. She brooked no nonsense and she was remarkably incorruptible for one of her status – a half-breed in a city that yet looked down its collective nose at inter-racial relations, and an illegitimate child, a second black mark against her in Ishgardian society. Yet, when Jacke's man had hinted that Limsa would receive Miss Ware with open arms – a staunch wish to remain right where she was had been the answer.

The Miqo'te, A'yora Nulah, was less of a known quantity. She had an excellent reputation within her field, and had been the school counselor for a student body that was notorious for a larger percentage of troubled children than almost anywhere else outside of Garlemald. Not an easy task to handle the children of the wealthy of this city; especially not when their high-born parents were like to fight any recommendations from this “outsider.” Or to send their precious offspring to professional therapists outside the sphere of the school's influence. Still, Merlwyb liked the look of the woman. Her many years of command had honed her ability to judge people, and she sensed that here was a woman of surpassing kindness and patience. No doubt she would need both, in heavy measure, to handle the Admiral's poor damaged foundling.

The “negotiations” were more like an informal – and rather incomplete – mission briefing. But in the end, they all shook hands and politely smiled, and then the three women left the office to its owner. Miss Ware walked off with a final nod, but Merlwyb gestured to Miss Nulah, and the Miqo'te followed after the tall Admiral until they reached a small alcove, out of the general traffic path.

Then she turned to face the smaller woman. “I would speak with you briefly, while we have a moment of relative privacy,” she began. The Admiral set one hand on her hip, and considered for a moment, her pale eyes troubled.

“This young woman has lived in my household for the last four months,” she said at last. “I have had personal interactions with her in that time. She is in a fragile state, as I said before, but I feel that you will need to know more than this. Whatever details the doctors may have given you in her file...” Her carmine lips pursed. “They did not witness the nightmares. I could not compel her to tell the doctors about those, nor could I compel her to admit that she nearly threw herself from her own balcony the second night she was in my home. I thank the Navigator that I was restless that night, Miss Nulah.” She fixed A'yora with that glacial gaze. “I believe Berylla is innocent of wrongdoing, but I can only pray that the investigations prove out my instincts. My hands are tied in terms of affecting that outcome. But I can help her by giving you further information. The records and documentation make her situation plain in their way, but they do not speak of how she blames herself. She expects to be hanged, and I cannot fault her. Our legal code does not treat arson, or murder, with mercy.”

The Admiral turned her face away for a moment, eyes tracking the motion of a cloud. “I am not her mother. I could offer her scant comfort, and I suspect she would have turned it away had I attempted to offer such.” Then, she looked back down at the Miqo'te counselor. “Gibrillont of the Forgotten Knight is to be her keeper, but I would beg of you to be her confidant. If she will trust you, comfort her. I feel quite an obligation to Berylla Seawrack - _Seahawk_ ,” the Admiral's mouth curved slightly at her own correction. “I am well aware that my request is an unusual one, and maybe an impossible one as well. We are all swimming with sharks, Miss Nulah. Pray guard Limsa's child as you can.”

The counselor tipped her head, her expression going remote for a moment as she contemplated. Then she looked up. Dark emerald eyes met pale ones, and the Miqo’te offered up a smile that showed a bare hint of fang. “Unusual or not, rest assured that she will be in good hands, Admiral. You have my word.”


	2. Now Arriving, Gate Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berylla arrives in Ishgard, and already things aren't quite what she expected.

Rihki stood with Berylla at the railings of the Admiral’s personal airship. The girl had been cheerful for much of the trip, frankly fascinated by the  _ Victory _ , but now that they were approaching Ishgard, she stood still and just stared at the city as it came closer.

“We're not going to the airport?” she asked, with a small frown.

“No. We will be landing at the private airship landing, where security is tighter.”

“The boarding pass you gave me said Gate Fourteen.” Berylla looked over at the officer. “Rihki, what aren't y'all telling me?”

Rihki soothed her hand up and down the girl's back a moment. “There were some rumors, that is all. I promise, this is for your safety and nothing else.”

“The press wants an interview that bad?”

Rihki pursed her lips. “Not the press.” She sighed. “You're better served knowing, than not. The people that were running the Navigator's Way were hardly a small time operation, and their bosses are highly displeased with the situation. You've told us everything you possibly can, but if you can't be questioned during the trial, all your depositions will be challenged at the least, maybe thrown out. So they are very interested in making sure that you never take the witness stand.”

“They want to kill me so I won't talk.” Berylla hung her head a moment.

“It can't be easy to hear this, and I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Berylla's voice held something Rihki hadn't heard before this. Anger. “They want to murder all those kids and get away with it. I won't let that happen.”

The slim airship sailed in over the city that gleamed in mid-morning light. Directly below, the crowded chaos of the Brume seemed to hunch at the base of the more glittering parts of Ishgard, like a mongrel dog hoping for scraps. To the north, a collection of gorgeous towers with gilded roofs – the Holy See proper, the world famous Vault of the Fury. The place was still the seat of most of the government, but Berylla was more interested in the academic institutions than the political ones within the compound. She noticed the green among the towers and peered that direction. The pamphlet she'd read had said both the University and the Academy were within the Vault's “wings” and now she saw what that meant: two sections of the old city wall remained in place, curving protectively around the core of Ishgard.

Off to the west, skyscrapers reached for the clouds – one or two of them even rivaled the Vault for height, though it was plain that the Ishgardians had mostly chosen to build out rather than up. From the air it looked like the city's edges were simply floating on more clouds.

The  _ Victory  _ started to descend, gently angling its flight more to the east, and Berylla looked in that direction to see the Firmament. “Wow, it really looks just like in the pictures,” she murmured to Rihki.

“I am sure you will be able to explore. Send me postcards, maybe.”

That got a smile.

Then the ship was lining up for final approach, and they had to make their way to the small seats in the center of this part of the ship to strap in. It hardly seemed necessary; the pilot brought the airship in smoothly, and turned it practically on a dime to present the side of the ship to the landing.

Berylla picked up her sole piece of luggage – a black gym bag with the team logo for the Maelstrom on it, and slung it over her shoulder. The two women walked off the airship and onto the landing, stepping past the sliding glass doors and into a nearly silent room. The morning light flooded in through the glass, and the dark wood of the floor and the walls gleamed softly.

*

Hilda sat in the waiting room at the private air landing, arms lightly crossed over her stomach as she leaned back in the less than comfortable seat, legs crossed at the ankles and stretched out in front of herself. “‘D think with this bein’ for the Pillars that ‘d be more money in t’ damn seats.” She muttered, shifting and standing with a stretch.

Gibrillont laughed lightly, the tall elezen glancing over from where he was leaned against one of the posts, reaching up to brush his bangs from his eyes. They only fell back into place. “It’s why I’m over here.” 

The half breed woman rolled her eyes at him, but smiled, shaking her head a bit as she looked around the empty waiting room. No boards listed likely arrival times for any airships that would pull in  _ here,  _ but she knew that she’d know almost instantly if those they were waiting for were going to be late. She took the moment to go over what she knew about the approaching ship and the ‘package’ they were waiting to pick up. 

She always liked her opportunities to meet with the Admiral, but the business behind the reason for Limsa to seek what amounted to asylum for one of her citizens was clearly something that ate at the stately woman. She gave few details, leaving that to her man in the shadows, Jacke Swallow. Hilda respected Jacke for his work, but personality wise, the two were likely too similar to ever really get along. That Jacke knew clearly far less than he wanted to was heavily obvious, and he made no pains to hide it as he told Hilda about the investigation thus far, and the part the incoming teenager played in it. Hilda knew all too well the sorts of horrors referred to; though the Brume had fought back against that the last decade or so to find a place of balance, the stories of what the ‘highborn’ had done to the ‘lowborn’ were things that she suspected would never fade.

The lack of clarity amid the smoke of Limsa really only had one real concern for Hilda, though. That the Bishop had agreed to let a possible firestarter into the school  **she** was in charge of the safety of. Not that she thought Berylla was the one who did it, that much was clear in her discussion with Jacke and the Admiral, but that someone else may endanger what she considered ‘hers’ and the children there, nobility, nonetheless!, still sat a bit off in her mind. But she always stayed distant from the political machinations, save when it endangered things she protected, and it was already done. 

“Feels a right mess, doesn’t it?” Gibrillont commented from the window as he watched Hilda stare out over the Sea of Clouds. “Everything leading to this foundling being brought here.”

“‘S one way o’ puttin’ it.” Hilda agreed, sighing as she took up a position similar to his, leaning one side against a window support and crossing her arms again. “But all things considerin’, ‘s prolly the best place t’ be puttin’ her. Certainly not Ul’dah, an' Gridania’d take a year t’ decide, an' even if she is smart, well, Sharlayan’s all closed. An' Mor Dhona’s no place neither.”

“Aye.” Gibrillont agreed, silent a few moments and looking out the window with her. “But it brings things into our safe places.” A sigh, then a light laugh. “Not that I’d say no, even if it was the Bishop who offered our services.” 

A laugh snorted from Hilda. “Like t’ whole ‘o Ishgard’s ‘is…” She trailed off the thought, shaking her head and looking out the window, squinting at the sky and approaching shape. “Here she comes.” 

The elezen and half-elezen stepped away from the window as the airship approached, exchanging looks before they moved over towards the doors that lead into the waiting room. 

*

There were only two people waiting for them, and Berylla’s shoulders relaxed just a little. She was glad there weren’t more. The reporters in Limsa had been relentless. Most of them had just been annoying, though the one guy who had cornered her while she waited for her physical therapy session had been seriously creepy… but the incident when she’d been released from the hospital haunted her. There had been so many people, then...and all of them seemed angry at her, waving signs with hateful and stupid things on them, screaming at her like crazed beasts. And the reporters had been in the very front, shouting question after question. One of the questions still stuck in Berylla’s head.

_ “Is it true you burned the orphanage down in an act of vengeance?” _

Reiki put her hand on Berylla’s arm and the girl shook herself out of that unwanted memory.

“This is Berylla Seahawk,” Reiki said quietly. “Berylla, this is Officer Hilda Ware. She leads security for the Academy and will be watching over you as well. And this,” a nod towards the taller Elezen, a man with tawny eyes and graying brown hair, “is Mr. Gibrillont. He owns the Forgotten Knight, which is where you will be staying during your time in Ishgard.” Rihki looked at both Elezens and gave a precise salute. “She’s all yours.” But then her voice and her posture softened. “Take good care of her.”

Before the others could do more than nod, Reiki had turned to Berylla. “Mind what they say,” she told the girl. “And do me one favor.”

“What?”

“Stay safe. Stay  _ alive _ . I want to see you coming back to Limsa when this is all over.”

The girl’s lip trembled for an instant and then she hugged the Miqo’te officer tight. She whispered something the two Elezens couldn’t quite hear, and then let go.

Even as Berylla turned to face them, Reiki was walking quickly away. Hilda caught the motion as she passed the doors - the woman was wiping at her eyes.

Berylla executed an awkward half bow. "Um. Hi, I guess.” Her very green eyes watched the two Elezen keenly, waiting for any hint of which way she might need to duck. She didn’t look like a firestarter. Her hair was the most fiery thing about her, even though it was so short it might’ve been called a pixie cut; just long enough in fact to lightly cover the burn scar on her scalp. She was of a height with Hilda -  _ very  _ short, for a Roe her age. It was hard to tell her build, given the shapeless T-shirt and track pants she was wearing, but she did at least look much healthier than the wreck of a girl in the picture on the dossier Hilda had been given.

The silence was on the edge of growing awkward when Hilda finally exhaled a light breath and smiled. It was genuine enough, if not slightly guarded, and when she stepped forward highlighted how much shorter than Gibrillont she was, and as she tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, how less pointed it was. She held out a hand, not so much for shaking, but in a guiding gesture. "As said, I'm Hilda, you'll see me about the school, everyone calls me Ms. Ware, whatever is comfortable for you, okay?" She glanced over towards the taller man, who nodded slightly and turned like to walk towards the doors that lead from the room. "We've a bit of a trip back to the Knight, and Gibrillont thought you'd like a brief city tour, but if you're not feeling up to that, we can go straight back to your dorm?”

"A tour?" Berylla blinked. "You mean I'm really gonna be allowed to walk around free?” She'd been half expecting an ankle monitor at the least, no matter what Rihki had said.

"You aren't a prisoner, you're an exchange student." Gibrillont commented, his voice a gentle firmness as he looked to Berylla's eyes as he said it, holding the door for the other two. "This initial 'tour' will be by car, but it helps to get an idea of the city, hmm?" He smiled warmly.

"The city is basically a series of rings, so once you figure out the layers you can make your way around near anywhere." Hilda added.

Berylla swallowed once and nodded. Then she followed them silently to the car.

The car was nothing fancy, an old SUV type that had seen some years of use and rust from salt. Berylla noticed the rust marks with a small frown. Ishgard was nowhere near the sea. Why was there salt damage on his truck? The SUV was apparently Gibrillont's own vehicle, judging by the fact that after holding the back door open for Berylla to slide in, he walked around and got into the driver's seat.

"Och, I see where I rank with you, Gib." Hilda commented with a smile as she chose to sit in the back with Berylla, opening her own door.

"Yes, as an independent woman who's more likely to hit me for opening the door than anything." He replied, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the streets.

While the streets could accommodate the car, there were places down some of the one-way streets they passed where the buildings were disconcertingly close on either side. Ishgard was  _ old _ , and most of it had been designed for walking, or for public transport in more 'modern' places, which soon enough they reached as the car moved into the part of the city Hilda said was called “Foundation.”

Gibrillont pointed out major landmarks and buildings along the way. “You'll want to visit that place, it's the best used bookstore in the city, very fancy inside but good prices, and I'm betting you'll find you need at least one extra book for school. All the exchange students I've ever hosted have had that trouble.” That seemed to amuse him.

Two streets later, Hilda spoke up. “Best avoid this area if you're alone. This is the old Crozier and the security here will turn you right around if you're not with the right folks.”

The two didn't press for a comment from Berylla, and the girl sat and listened and nodded – polite, and paying close attention, but not volunteering more than a word or two.

Though she was fairly subtle and polite about it, Hilda eyed the teen thoughtfully for most of the drive. Eventually their path looped out of Foundation, and they were driving along the edge of the Brume on the High Road, approaching the old Firmament. The car pulled into an underground garage.

"And this would be the Forgotten Knight, home for multiples. Well, the underside of it.”

Berylla cocked her head at his phrasing, but didn't ask. She had, at least, lost some of the wary look - couldn't say she was  _ relaxed _ but she was less ready to bolt.

As the car stopped, Hilda hopped out and walked around back, popping the gate and taking out a pair of large bags, and one smaller one before slamming the gate shut. Gibrillont opened the door for Berylla as Hilda came around by them, holding out the two larger bags, which the keeper took hold of.

"You won't be needing these for a while, but your uniforms for the Academy, warm and cold, two pairs of each. And a paper about what's acceptable accessories and the like. And this is a gift from me." Hilda held out the other bag directly to Berylla, and when Gibrillont snorted lightly, Hilda rolled her eyes. "Okay, from me and my partner who was very insistent on it.”

Berylla took the bag, green eyes blank with surprise. "Th-thank you." She resisted the urge to peek into the bag for about half a second.

Gibrillont laughed and Hilda looked mildly exasperated. "You can open it." She smiled, shaking her head.

Inside the bag, there was a book about Ishgard for outsiders written by somebody from Ul'dah, and two gift cards – the generic sort that were usable anywhere. One was printed with a picture of roasted coffee beans and in silver, the number 20 for how much gil was on the card. The other card held a simple logo, and on the back was a small sticky note reading: “60 gil, for a good coat.”

Berylla's cheeks were pink as she looked back up from the gift in her hands. "I...thanks. Really. I thought - " She stopped herself. Honestly she thought she was just being sent here as a kind of nicer jail. It would be rude to say  _ that _ , though, after these people had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome. It surprised her just how welcome she felt, in fact.

Hilda waved her hand a bit, looking about as uncomfortable as Berylla likely felt for the gifts, about to say something when her pocket buzzed, pulling out her phone and glancing quickly at it with a blank face. She smiled again as she slid the phone back away. "You can thank me by behaving at school. And please, just.." She paused and glanced to Gibrillont, then shook her head a bit. "Ms. A'yora will come round to gather you for a school tour, so you aren't lost when things start back up after break, and my number is inside the book if you needed it, though I told Maelstrom to make sure you had it too, alright? 've got to run. Welcome to Ishgard, Berylla." The shorter woman smiled lightly and turned, quickly striding away before anything further was said to her.

Gibrillont watched her a moment, then looked to Berylla. "Well, and away she goes. Let's get you settled in your room and a tour of the Knight.”

Berylla nodded, hugging the book to her with one arm.

*

The Forgotten Knight, as it turned out, was way more than a dorm.

Gibrillont led Berylla into the small elevator, and pointed at the small paper taped below the floor buttons. “This is technically B1,” he explained. “The floors beneath that are furnace and whatnot, don’t go down there, very boring.” His smile invited her to join the small joke, and one corner of her mouth moved up a little in response. “Now. Taproom is on the second floor and that’s street level. The first floor is all office stuff and my own little place. We’re going there first to grab your key. Your flat is on the third floor. He tapped the last button. “Fifth floor is where you go if you want the roof, and yes that is allowed in the summer - but only in good weather. You’ll understand when we go up there later.”

Berylla took in all the information with a very small crease between her brows, as if memorizing his instructions the first time were vital.

Gibrillont had been given the barest of briefings about this poor girl. Oh, he’d had most of the same information Hilda was given, but the things  _ he  _ wanted to know hadn’t been among the thin dossier folder on “Berylla Seawrack, alias Seahawk.” Things like just what had been done to her, because if he was going to guard her, he felt a need to know that kind of detail.

But he had been more or less fostering kids for the better part of two decades and he’d seen a lot of shit in that time. The things that people could do to children, and the results after. He noted how Berylla kept herself in the corner of the elevator away from him, and the way she acted as if the least instant of eye contact would - what? Invite punishment, perhaps? What hell had she suffered? And why had she been so tense when she walked through those glass doors? Too many damned questions.

Well. He would do as he always had. He would listen, and pay attention. Eventually, it would pay off, and she would understand that she could trust him.

“All right, here we are,” he led them out of the elevator and down the hall. “First door is for emergencies only, it’ll only open if the power’s out. Second door is my office.” He saw her eyes flick to the third door and then away, as if flinching at the knowledge of where he lived. Damn. Something involving men and sex, then, was among the list of horrors hiding in this girl’s head. He had seen that very glance, more times than he wanted to think about.

He put the second bag full of uniforms on his left arm so he could turn the knob on his office door, and stepped inside. Berylla stood in the doorway and blinked around at the room.

It was something of a wreck. It wasn’t dirty so much as incredibly cluttered. If there was an order in this room, it wasn’t obvious to the casual observer. Gibrillont however seemed completely comfortable, and reached for a key on a cork board. Another copy of the key remained on the hook. A little steel tag was attached to the key by a split ring, and the two items chimed against each other as he turned and held the key out to Berylla.

He grinned at her expression. “I maybe oughta get a secretary, but she’d clean once and then I’d never find anything.” He leaned over to the messy desk and grabbed a bright yellow folder off the top of a stack of papers. “Let’s get you up to your new place.”

Back into the elevator they went, this time Berylla leading the way. She leaned just slightly against the wall of the elevator as it rose to the third floor, noting absently how much the lift car rattled.

Then, they were at the third floor; the doors were sliding open, and Gibrillont was ushering her out onto a landing.

“Emergency stairs,” he pointed, “and a spare fire extinguisher. All of ours work perfectly.”

She twitched, as if she wanted to make a comment, and he mentally nodded. The dossier had mentioned harassment from the media. Obviously other people than just reporters had made unkind comments around her, maybe even to her, about the fire.  _ Why can’t people just be kind _ , he sighed inwardly.

“Yours is the one on the end of the hall. There are four flats on this floor. The fourth one is being fixed up so it’s empty. And for the moment the other two are empty too, but that might change before school.” He shrugged a bit, then gestured to Berylla. “You first, since you’ve got the key.” He lifted his arm a bit. “And I have my hands full.”

She nodded and walked down the hall. The carpet was a sort of dingy color, but it was very clean. Her sneakers made a shushing sound as she walked, but there were no other noises.

“I prefer quiet from my upstairs neighbors,” Gibrillont said, seeing how she glanced around. “So I decided the way to get that was to put really good insulation and soundproofing on every floor. You can rest knowing you won’t bother your neighbors and they won’t bother you with normal moving about and such like.”

“I bet you can charge a lot for your rooms because of that too.”

Gibrillont raised both eyebrows and then grinned. “A comment at last! And yes, I can. I don’t charge as much as I  _ could _ , but that’s not for you to worry over. It’s covered.”

Berylla’s face turned pink, and she hastily put the key into the lock and opened the door.

The flat was dim, and Gibrillont reached through the open door and tapped a rocker switch. A light in the center of the ceiling came on, and Berylla stepped in and stood in the middle of the main room, just looking around.

It was a plain place, white walls and a carpet that had faded into a no-color sort of beige. Plain white curtains at the sole window, and the window box was empty of any flowers - or even dirt to put them in. The main room held no furniture. There was a small kitchenette - really just a fridge, a range right next to that, and on the north wall, a tiny sink. The kitchenette was separated from the main room by a projecting counter - a pony wall really with a counter on top of it, but it seemed solidly built. All of it was plain white, and the floor was scuffed linoleum. Two doors on the south wall stood open, and Berylla could see that the one closer to the still-open apartment door was the bathroom. More plain white - facilities, floor, all of it very plain. But very, very clean.

She stepped to the other door, and blinked. She had seen four poster canopy beds like this before - in fairy tale books. The massive thing took up easily half the room and reached all the way to the ceiling. It was made of carved, dark wood, a stark contrast against the plain white and beige of everything else. It even had a little step along one side. The mattress was bare, with a stack of plain white sheets stacked on top. There were cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of the room directly across from the bedroom door.

“Don’t get too excited about that bed,” Gibrillont laughed. He had come inside and set down the bags with her uniforms in one corner. “It’s older than the war, and it was in this building when I bought it, along with a bunch more like it shoved down into the basement of all things. Took me a whole summer to clean ‘em up. But they’re sturdier than the Fury’s spear.”

“I can believe it.” Berylla’s voice was still awed. Then she turned to face her - what was he? "Are you my keeper? Parole officer? Landlord?"

“Technically I’m your dorm headmaster, to use the school’s wording,” Gibrillont told her. “I’ll act  _ in loco parentis _ whenever it’s needed, and observe all the proprieties.” Then, he walked across the room to the kitchen counter and set the folder down. “Set down your things and come over here. There’s paperwork to be done, more’s the pity.”

Berylla obeyed without hesitation - and very literally, setting her bag down right where she stood and then carefully settling her new book on top of the bag. Then she came over to Gibrillont and looked at the papers he was laying out.

He handed her a pen and walked her through signing a dozen different forms, all of which had already been filled out. She saw the Admiral’s signature on half of it, and understood that this was all part of whatever Limsa had arranged with Ishgard.

But at the last page, she paused before signing.

“Something amiss, lass?”

“Money?” She looked up at him. “Why am I getting money?”

“Student stipend.”

Her face burned. Gibrillont looked at her a moment, and then spoke in a gentle tone. “All the transfer students get a stipend in Ishgard’s school system, Berylla. Some of them get extra money from their families, but the Holy See doesn’t look too kindly on the notion of their students - who’re all supposed to be the best of the best - coming to school fainting from hunger because they have no money.”

“How often has  _ that  _ happened?” the girl asked, as if she couldn’t help herself.

“Believe it or not, used to be a bit common, years ago. Looked bad for the school and the Archbishops, you can bet. And if there’s one thing the Holy See never likes, it’s looking bad.”

That made her nod. She knew that sort of attitude. Appearances above all else. “So it’s not special treatment because I’m…”  _ A problem, a liability, a burden, a criminal _ …

The Elezen straightened and set his hand over his chest. “Swear on my own mother’s grave, it’s been done like this for longer than I’ve had the Knight.”

“Well...in that case.” She signed the last paper, and then gazed around the room. A small, shy smile crept across her face. “I’ve never had a room to myself.”

Gibrillont bit down what he wanted to say, and made a mental note. He didn’t care  _ what  _ Thordan had to say about it, he was going to contact his Ul’dahn friend the instant he got done here.

“Well, that was all I needed from you for now. Come to my office when you get hungry and I’ll show you around a bit more - there’s a little corner store and a couple other places within walking distance.”

“Okay.” She looked up at him, and the smile came back. “Thank you.”

He gathered up the papers and tucked them away, and smiled back. “My pleasure, Berylla Seahawk.”

Then he left, quietly closing the door behind himself. He had his tomephone in his hand before he reached the elevator, texting Tataru.


End file.
